


Visit at 0330

by Xenobotanist



Series: Midnight Misadventures [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal (Ajanal?) Fingering, Attempt at Humor, Cardassian Anatomy, Costume Kink, Crack, M/M, Oral Sex, Sassy Julian, Sex in Space, Talking with your Mouth Full, but probably not who you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25742077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: Garak and Julian have an intimate moment inside a runabout. They get interrupted.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Midnight Misadventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867324
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	Visit at 0330

**Author's Note:**

> I’m making good progress on a couple longer, more serious stories, but in the meantime, here’s something silly I came up with while on a road trip.

"Oh, Julian, you darling, beautiful young man." Garak leaned back in the seat of the runabout, closing his eyes despite the arresting view in front of him. Pleasure coursed through his pr'Ut as the human bobbed his head, sucking up and down the length. He would never get tired of seeing the doctor on his knees.

One hand encircled the base of his erection, twisting back and forth over the irrlun, and Garak gripped the armrests of his seat in an effort not to cry out. Such a quick study. 

A ticklish touch even lower warned him of an encroaching second hand. "Oh, you filthy boy, what do you think you're--oh, don't stop." Two fingers had entered the tight ring of muscle in his lower ajan, dipping in and sliding out. He hadn't taught Julian that, but it was glorious. He shuddered as jolts of pleasure shot through his most intimate parts, and wondered vaguely if the seats came with a reclining function. 

At the back of his mind, he marveled at the fact that he hadn't figured out what was going on sooner. The fact of the matter was, when Julian broke into his room at 0330 and said that they had a secret mission to a moon of Bajor, he had been only too happy to join his new lover. The reason hadn't even been terribly creative--an informant with intel about something Quark was smuggling--and that bothered him. Was he slipping?

But then they'd arrived, and Julian had told him they'd have to wait. To pass the time, he started explaining Starfleet's plan to begin installing seat belts on the runabouts, and he got down in front of Garak's knees to demonstrate just where the belt would come out and where it would buckle in. And then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Garak's trousers and tugged them down... and when had he grown so lax in his observations?

Not that he was complaining, per se. Being orally pleasured was immensely preferable to apologizing to the poor doctor for breaking his arm at the first sign of subterfuge. 

Perhaps he should let down his guard more often?

A little.

And only in... certain situations.

The mouth wrapped around him was unbelievably hot, like his shaft was being dipped in the thermal springs at Tarlak. It licked and nibbled, the teeth ever so lightly scraping up his length, just the way he liked. And the fingers below--it felt like three now--were thrusting in and out. Julian curled them to rub against the muscles that he used to bloom, and Garak saw stars.

Just then, a light began blinking on the console while a trill announced an incoming distress call, which the runabout patched through automatically. A gray and scowling visage appeared, larger than life.

"Gul Dukat!" Garak exclaimed, glad for his reflexes. He hastily shoved down the head that had tried popping up, and had to feign a coughing fit to hide the muffled choking noises coming from his lap. Oh dear, maybe he should have retracted first. 

The Cardassian military leader squinted at him. “What do you want, Garak? And what are you doing out here?”

Garak tried to look as stern as possible with a human-sized leech that had resumed sucking on his unmentionables. The nerve! (And how was Garak going to get him back?) “ _You_ called _me,_ Dukat. And on a distress channel, too. Did you get lost?” he asked solicitously. 

Dukat studied the area below the camera as if searching for something. “Lost… yes, lost.” He frowned. “That still doesn’t explain what _you’re_ doing here.”

The man seriously thought Garak would believe he got _lost_ near Bajor? Dukat had lost his wits! “If you must know, I’m meeting a fabric trader to renew my stock of Nolth wool. He’s not welcome on Deep Space Nine, so I’d appreciate you not informing Captain Sisko of my… whereabouts.” 

“Bat wath bwuddy bwilliant,” mumbled Bashir around his pr’Ut.

He was going to murder the boy. After finishing, of course. He tightened his hold on the dark mane of hair.

“You expect me to believe that?!” Dukat threw back. “I know you, Garak. Did you follow me here?”

“Whad an ibiot,” the human chimed in.

“Shush, you!” Garak admonished in the direction of his crotch, only to freeze in abject horror.

Dukat’s glazed look gained focus. "Why Garak, what do you have there? Don't tell me you had to pay some poor Dabo boy to play doctor with you."

An indignant squeak was all the warning he got. "Oh, hullo, _Skrain_!" Julian said cheekily, bouncing up from his position on the floor. He wiped his mouth obscenely, in full sight of the viewscreen.

Damn the fool! He'd never learned a healthy caution of the venomous dictator, and Garak had only himself to blame. It was under his own tutelage that Bashir began questioning the man quite openly not once but twice.

"No, Garak doesn't need to _pay_ to play doctor. Speaking of, Quark tells me that you've got a problem with a little itch--"

"Doctor!" both Garak and Dukat shouted at the same time.

The human jumped, eyes darting back and forth between the seething Cardassian on the monitor and the stricken one beside him.

“Duka-at,” sang a voice from off-screen. 

“In a moment, Damar!” the Gul called back. Both hands grabbed at his head like it was bothering him.

Julian and Garak watched, transfixed, as a swaying Damar appeared. He was dressed in a Bajoran maid costume, complete with a Terran feather duster. In his other hand was a half-empty bottle of kanar. “Who’re you talking to? We’re not done yet.” He hiccuped.

Huh. Julian didn’t know Cardassians could do that. He leaned over to whisper in Garak’s ear. “I think he’s drunk. In fact, they’re _both_ drunk. Look at how Dukat’s pupils are dilated and he keeps squinting.”

Well, that changed everything. 

“Dukat. You were half right. I followed _Damar_ out here at the behest of his wife.” Dukat’s eyes widened comically. “So, I do believe it would be in your best interest to leave _this instant_ and return to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

Rapidly sobering, the Gul nodded. 

It was a shame the legate had wandered away; Garak would have liked to see his face at this parting shot. “And Dukat… if you ever mention what you saw this evening to Captain Sikso, I’ll be making a call to the Legate’s wife. I believe Central Command would have something to say on the matter, as well.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” The message ended.

Garak flopped back in his seat. Crisis averted. “We should probably return the runabout,” he sighed.

Julian nodded thoughtfully. “Probably.”

Garak typed in the commands before remembering that he should do up his trousers. A hand stopped him.

The hand was attached to a naked human. 

Who straddled him.

Bashir wriggled. “Need a seatbelt?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me be the first to apologize to Julian, Garak, and Damar. They suffered for my own personal amusement.  
> Dukat can rot.


End file.
